Why I Go South for the Winter

Every winter, I travel to warmer climates — like a real snow bird.

People assume I'm a weather wimp, that I can't take the cold and the snow. But they're wrong.

I don't mind snow.

Sure, it's cold and wet and you slip and fall. And sliding, sideways-traveling cars can't stop when you're in the sidewalk and the snow gets into the tops of your boots and your face freezes when you walk into the wind.

But I don't mind. Really. If that was the only reason to go south for the winter, I wouldn't bother. One can always stay inside, or most of the time at least.

And I don't mind that the car won't start on cold mornings. I mean, that's what roadside service is for, to come start the car when the battery gets run into the ground, isn't it? The faster you drain the battery, the sooner you can get off that shivering cold front seat and back into the house where it's warm. Who cares that the service estimates 5 hours to arrive. That's 5 hours avoiding whatever it was I had the mistaken impression I had to do right away.

It's all good. Cars frozen solid is not why I go south for the winter.

I'm not a weather wimp. Not at all.

The only reason I go south for the winter is to make my friends envious.

I well imagine the green around the gills when they tell me about freezing their nose while walking the dog, and I respond with, "Well, I'm lounging outside in the sun, wearing shorts, and sipping a slow cold beer."

That's the only reason I go south.

Sometimes I miss the damp and the chills and the frozen fingers and vehicles buried under snow drifts. Really. No kidding. Really.